


Don't Mess With Exes

by ChasingRabbits



Series: A Couple of Kooks [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Parents, Blow Jobs, Friendship, Gay Parents, Human Castiel, Human Crowley, Human Meg, Jealous Dean, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 04:45:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1731668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingRabbits/pseuds/ChasingRabbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel may have stopped sleeping with his exes, but that doesn't exactly pacify Dean. </p><p>Sometimes it takes a good kick in the ass to remember to put your pride aside and admit that you were in the wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Mess With Exes

Archie is not a fan of sleeping at the foot of the bed. In fact, Archie seems to be pretty damn pissed that Castiel let Dean take his spot. After all, he’s been cuddling Cas for years, has done way more for Castiel than Dean ever has. 

“So you’re getting him a toy?” asks Dean. 

“You know how sensitive he is,” Castiel sandwiches his phone between his shoulder and ear as he grabs a couple of raw hide chews and sets them in the shopping cart. “He wouldn’t give me the time of day for two months after you moved in, remember?” 

“You are aware we are talking about a dog, right?” 

“No, we’re talking about the only friend I had when I first moved out here,” Castiel corrects. There isn’t a lot an eighteen-year-old community college student can call his own, but at the very least Castiel had the love and companionship of a tiny Bassett Hound. 

“Okay, okay,” Dean concedes. “How’s Em doing?” 

Emma sits in the front of the cart, legs dangling, eyeing the cereal box in her hands. 

“I’m pretty sure she wants to kill the Trix rabbit,” he says. 

“I don’t like those!” Emma exclaims and throws the cereal down on the floor. 

“Oh, lovely,” Castiel rolls his eyes. “I’d better get out of here before we have a meltdown.” 

“Fun,” Dean says. “How long you got?” 

“Well, I’d say we’re at terror alert level yellow right now,” Castiel pushes the cart down the aisle. “I still need to grab some meat—“

“I’ll say.”

“Charming,” Castiel laughs and grabs his list out of his sweater pocket. “I guess I could wait to do produce until farmer’s market tomorrow.”

“As long as you got all my processed foods, I’m golden,” says Dean. 

Castiel’s call waiting beeps. 

“Who’s calling me?” he frowns and looks at his screen. “Shit, it’s Crowley.”

“Are you kidding me?” 

“Just let me get rid of him,” says Cas. 

“I thought you did,” Dean shoots back. 

True, Castiel did have to end his arrangement with Crowley a few months ago, due to the new aspect of his and Dean’s relationship, but how could he just stop speaking to someone he’s spoken to almost every day for the last decade?

“Cas.”

“What do you want me to say, Dean?” Castiel sighs. “I don’t need two pissed off toddlers on my hands, so in the interest of saving me some time, would you just tell me what you’d like me to do?” 

Three. There are three pissed off toddlers in this family now. 

“Dude, you know I hate that guy,” says Dean. “I can’t stand him.” 

“I understand that, Dean,” Castiel nods, though Dean can’t see it. “That isn’t my problem. I’ve been friends with Crowley for a very long time. Apart from you and Gabriel, he’s my best friend.” 

“Okay,” Dean clips. “Great. Go talk to your third runner up best friend then.”

“He’d actually be second runner up,” Castiel corrects. 

“You’re not helping your case, dick,” Dean snaps. “Do whatever the fuck you want, you’re going to anyway. I gotta get back to work.”

Dean hangs up, leaving Castiel in the primordial stages of a migraine. His phone starts buzzing, though instead of Dean calling to apologize for being unnecessarily dickish, it’s Crowley calling again.

“Hello,” he answers. 

“Castiel,” Crowley’s voice crawls up into his ear and nests there. “You have the day off, yes?” 

“I do,” Castiel nods. “I’m running errands with my daughter.” 

“Of course,” Crowley says. “Well, my lunch meeting cancelled and I’m very much starved for interaction with some form of intelligent life. I’m afraid this lot has left me wanting. Pitiful, really.” 

“Again, I’m with my daughter,” Castiel rubs the scrunched muscles between his eyebrows. 

“Yes, duckie, I heard you the first time,” Crowley insists. “Come have lunch with me. Bring the little rugrat, I haven’t seen her in ages.”

Mostly because the one and only time Crowley met her, in the twilight of her infancy, he’d given her quite a scare. Understandable, as Crowley can be a little imposing at first glance, but Dean took it as a sign and refused to let him near her again. 

“What if I bring in lunch?” asks Castiel. “Emma’s in kind of a mood.”

“Sure,” Crowley replies. “I’ve got a brand new couch in my office; she’s always welcome to take a nap while we have our little visit.”

Castiel smiles. At first, he had the very real fear that Crowley wouldn’t want anything to do with him once the sexual aspect of their relationship was over. On the contrary, though, it seems that he doesn’t mind it. 

They are friends, after all. 

“All right,” he agrees. “Let me finish up at the grocery store and I’ll head over.” 

“Perfection,” Crowley agrees. “And don’t worry about picking anything up, I’ll order in.”

“Crowley,” Castiel sighs.

“I insist,” he says. “See you soon.”

Castiel hangs up, guilt churning in his gut. He doesn’t think he’s in the wrong, still talking to Crowley. Dean doesn’t like Meg either, but Dean hasn’t made a big stink about Castiel still talking to her. Perhaps his relationship with Crowley is an exception, in that they’ve been so intimate for so long. 

Castiel is of the mind that that shouldn’t matter. He’s with Dean, because he loves Dean and is in love with Dean and the thought of losing Dean, and god, losing Emma, hurts so much more than losing Crowley would. 

Damn it.

“All right,” he sighs and picks up the box of cereal under Emma’s feet. She sits with her arms folded over her chest and a scowl on her little face. “Don’t give me that look. You’re the one who threw them.”

“I don’t want that!” Emma repeats. 

“You’ve made that abundantly clear,” Castiel nods and continues pushing the cart out of the aisle. “And I understand your frustration, believe me, but the cereal is not for you.”

Threat levels rise to orange as Emma’s face starts to go pink. She’s poised to blow if they don’t get the hell out of there fast. Castiel makes quick work of the rest of his list, makes it out of the store in record time. He loads the groceries into the trunk, buckles Emma into her car seat, and takes off towards Crowley’s office. 

It’s not until he’s in the elevator in Crowley’s building that a dark cloud of dread rolls in over Castiel’s head. He’s got a sleepy toddler on his hip, a stuffed giraffe in hand, and a cacophony of different ways to say ‘I can’t talk to you anymore’ bouncing around in his skull.

The smell of curry hits his nose the second he crosses the threshold into Crowley’s cushy office and his stomach gives an impatient growl. 

“Come, Castiel,” Crowley waves him over. “Shut the door behind you.”

Castiel does so and sits Emma down on the couch, only to realize that she’s fallen asleep in the time it took him to walk from the elevator to here. He lies her down and tucks her giraffe under her arm, and then backs away slowly. 

“Adorable little sprog, isn’t she?” Crowley pushes a to-go box across his desk. “Chicken tikka, extra naan.”  

Castiel opens the box and breathes deep. It smells divine. 

“So,” Crowley leans back in his chair, poking his own lunch with a fork. “How’s life with Prince Charming?” 

“You know, it’s a real shame that you two don’t get along, you two could sit around and out-snipe each other for my affections.” 

“Sniping,” Crowley considers. “No, that doesn’t sound like me. Believe it or not, Castiel, I was genuinely asking.” 

Great, now another reason to feel like shit. 

Castiel sighs and shoves a piece of chicken into his mouth, biding his time until a good response comes up in his head. 

“As your former boyfriend and sexual partner, and as your current,” Crowley gives a tired sigh, “ _friend_ , I do happen to have a vested interest in your well-being. Even if your current partner is a bit of a prat.”

“He does not enjoy the fact that I still talk to you,” Castiel shakes his head, not looking up from his chicken and rice. 

“Well,” Crowley nods, “That is a problem then, isn’t it?”

“Just give him time,” Castiel rolls his eyes. “He just has to get used to it.”

“Why should he have to?” Crowley shrugs. “Castiel, he’s your partner. You two have a child. If he doesn’t want us to socialize, by all accounts it’s in everyone’s best interest that we don’t socialize.” 

Castiel raises an eyebrow, “And just give into his tantrum? No.” 

“I know I needn’t remind you of what happened the last time I crossed Dean Winchester,” says Crowley. “Suffice to say, while I happen to believe I still have the intellectual advantage over him, he has, unfortunately, exceeded my level of brawn. To be perfectly honest, Castiel, I don’t know that I can risk being on the wrong side of that man’s ire. Not even for you.”

The tension in Castiel’s chest eases. 

“So you’re okay if we don’t talk anymore,” he ventures timidly. 

Crowley looks over his shoulder, just to make sure nobody has materialized behind him, and leans forward. He whispers, “I want you to be happy. I want you to go off, live, frolic, do whatever you please. Dean makes you happy, Emma makes you happy, and if I’m jeopardizing that, I’d rather take myself out of the equation than have you do, or, god forbid, have him do.” 

And for a good couple of minutes, Castiel doesn’t know what to make of that. 

Unable to think of anything else, Cas shifts in his seat and says, “I’d miss you.” 

Crowley looks up at that, swallowing his mouthful of curry before he replies, “Well there’s no need to pout about it. Come now, if this is really our last meal together we’re not going to spend it whinging about how much we’ll miss each other. Personally, I’ve a bone to pick about the most recent doings and dealings of one Don Draper and his insufferable team of advertising executives.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, “Do not even get me started.”

Crowley was right—Indian food and Mad Men speculations are far superior to long, heartfelt goodbyes.

* * *

The best thing about being with Cas is that he gets to kiss him when he comes home from work. It’s kind of a stupid thing to enjoy so much, but after a long day at work, to kiss that earnest, goddamned handsome bastard is nothing short of heavenly. 

He hopes Cas isn’t still pissed after they talked this afternoon. Dean will be the first to admit that he gets a little carried away when Crowley is in any way involved with Cas. Logically, he knows that he can trust Cas, that Cas loves him and wants him and wants to be with him. Dean is reactive, though. He knows this too. 

The only thing he can do is hope Cas is cooled off, apologize, and hope to hell that Cas forgives him before they go to bed. 

Dean is greeted by the sight of his daughter and partner both sacked out on the couch, Archie curled up on the floor right by them. It’s practically a Norman Rockwell… y’know, if Norman Rockwell painted nerdy queers and crappy Hollywood apartments. Seizing the opportunity, Dean snaps a picture with his phone and saves it as his wallpaper. 

Emma stirs when Dean locks the deadbolt behind him. She perks up when she sees Dean and slides off the couch, stumbling over and subsequently waking Archie so she can hug Dean’s leg. 

“Oh, baby,” Dean stoops to pick her up. “You were having a nice nap with pops, what’s up?” 

Emma lets out a whine and wraps her arms around Dean’s neck. 

“That exhausted, huh?” Dean kisses the top of her head. “C’mon, let’s get you into your bed.” 

He puts Emma into a fresh set of jammies and tucks her into her bed. It’s a lot easier than the crib, at least, even if it means his baby is growing up. She’s asleep again in no time, which makes Dean think that Cas skipped over naptime again.

Cas may run like a German train, but his inability to slow down once he gets going wears Dean out as much as it does Emma.

When he comes back out into the front room, Cas is up, caught in the middle of an epic yawn.

“No nap today?” asks Dean.

“Didn’t,” Cas yawns again. “Have time.”

“Dude, I know you like to get everything done, bing-bang-boom, but the kid’s gotta sleep,” Dean sits down on the arm of the couch, facing Cas.

“Listen, I wanted to apologize for earlier,” Dean sighs.

“It’s fine,” Cas comes back, voice still scratchy with sleep. “I took care of it.”

Dean pauses at that.

“Took care of what?”

“Crowley,” Cas rubs his eyes under his glasses. “I had a chat with him and he and I agreed that it’s inappropriate to continue our friendship.”

“Whoa,” Dean marvels aloud before he can help it. That’s… big.

It’s one of those things that Dean has wanted for a long time, yeah, but figured he would just never get. For some inexplicable reason, those two actually like each other as human beings, beyond whatever primal apeman fucking they were doing before.

“’cause of me?” he asks.

“Not because of you,” Cas finally looks over at him. His eyes are red, though Dean can’t tell if that’s because he was just rubbing them, if he’s tired, or if he’s been, y’know.

Teary.

“What’d you say?” asks Dean before he can gauge what level of curiosity is appropriate here.

“I told him the truth,” Castiel shrugs. “You’re more important to me than he is.”

There’s a strange cocktail of relief, guilt, and uninhibited joy boiling up in his gut. His chest expands, his spine extends, but he fights to keep a smile off of his face. He slides down onto the couch and sits next to Cas.

“You sure?” he asks. “’cause I know I was bein’ a real dick earlier.”

“Yeah, but,” Cas shrugs. “It’s for the best.”

Dean wraps an arm around his shoulder and kisses him on the cheek.

He thinks it might be a little condescending to say ‘thank you’, so he presses kisses all up Castiel’s neck and his jaw, hoping that says enough.

**oo**

September dissolves into October. The mild breeze kicks up the smell of fall, of crunchy leaves and yellowed grass. Emma is finally old enough that she’s excited when Dean says “Halloween”, because she knows she’ll get to dress up and eat candy.

Like father, like daughter.

October also means it’s finally cooling off enough to be able to cuddle without having to peel skin off of skin.

Dean rolls over to find Cas hugging his pillow to his chest. He’s a lot scruffier lately, and even though he’s asleep Dean can still see the dark rings under his eyes. He reaches up and brushes some of the hair off of Cas’ forehead, accidentally causing him to stir.

“’morning,” he mumbles and buries his face in his pillow. Dean smiles and runs his fingers through Cas’ bedhead.

“What time did you go to sleep?” he asks, massaging the base of his skull and down his neck.

“I went to bed with you,” Cas replies.

“Yeah, I know,” Dean scoots closer to him. “But I got up to take a piss around two and you weren’t in bed.”

He kisses that little spot just under Cas’ ear, the one that makes him curl in on himself and smile and tell Dean to ‘cut it out’.

He doesn’t do that this time.

“What time is it?” asks Cas.

“Six-thirty,” Dean nuzzles him. “We gotta get up and get the kid ready for daycare. And you still didn’t answer my question.”

“I think I finally went to bed around four,” Castiel ventures a guess and pushes himself up.

“Work?” Dean asks.

“Yeah,” Cas rolls over and sighs. He looks at Dean, so bleary eyed and ragged, and yet he still manages a smile.

“Naomi’s been riding your ass lately,” Dean shakes his head and shifts so that he can cuddle Cas closer to him. Cas rolls over and wraps his arms around Dean’s waist, burying his face in Dean’s chest. He clings to Dean like he’d never let go if he could.

They remain entangled for another fifteen minutes before their alarm goes off and they pull apart. While Cas goes to wake Emma, Dean starts on breakfast. He flips on the TV and sets it to the local news, enjoying the murmurs of the news anchors more than what they’re actually saying.

Dean starts a pot of coffee and grabs the eggs out of the fridge. Even though they feed Emma at daycare, Dean doesn’t feel right sending his kid off without a little something in her stomach. They have the means and they have the time; not all kids have that luxury. He and Sam sure as hell didn’t.

Cas shuffles out of Emma’s room with a very sleepy little girl hiding her face in his neck.

“Good morning, baby girl,” Dean greets. Emma whines. “Or not. Lookie, though, we got toast and some scrambled eggies waiting for you.”

“Eggs,” Emma scowls into Cas’ neck and Cas fucking _laughs_.

“Oh, really?” Dean’s eyebrows go up. “You poisoned her.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Cas chuckles, but he presses a kiss into Emma’s hair and says, “You’re absolutely right.”

The grammar gestapo aside, it turns out not to be such an unpleasant morning. After a cup of coffee and some fuel for the tank, Cas is wide awake.

“Okay, go pick out your clothes,” Dean says as soon as he’s got Emma all washed up. Emma bounces back to her room just as Cas exits theirs. His office is pretty casual, but he still makes it a point to wear button-up shirts with his jeans and sneakers.

Apparently if you actually button up a button-up, you look ten times more respectable.

Who knew?

Cas reaches over Dean to grab his travel mug from the dish rack, pausing to kiss him on the back of the neck before he fills up.

Emma comes out of her room dressed in nothing but a pair of black leggings.

“Where’s your shirt?” asks Dean.

“I don’t want to wear it,” Emma explains, staring Dean directly in the eye.

Dean looks over at Cas and then back to Emma, “Honey, you gotta wear a shirt to school.”

“Yeah, okay, but I don’t want to wear it,” she says.

“Well, we all gotta do stuff we don’t wanna do, sweetheart,” Dean reasons and Cas pokes him in the side.

“What about a dress, Emma?”

“Oh,” Emma’s eyebrows crunch, and then she replies, “No.”

“A shirt or a dress are really your only two options here, kiddo,” says Dean.

“But I,” Emma begins, “I, um. Teacher – teacher says I don’t have to wear dresses if I don’t want.”

“Great,” Dean nods, “Go put on a shirt.”

“May I remind you that you are arguing with a two year old,” Cas whispers in Dean’s ear before moving forward and collecting Emma under one arm.

“Papa, no!” Emma giggles. “I like to be naked!”

Dean barely finishes washing the egg pan when Emma darts out of her room, completely naked now, laughing her ass off as Dean and Cas try to catch her.

It should not be that hard to catch a kid in this small of a space, but there you go.

She’s pissed off as hell by the time they actually get her into Cas’ car. It’s a recent development, but they’d been living with only one car between them for way too long.

A white Toyota Carolla, circa 1998. Dean fixed her up as much as he needed to, but for such a white bread, cookie-cutter car, she’s not a half-bad piece of machinery at all.

“All right, we’re off,” says Cas.

Dean leans down into the open backseat window and says, “Bye sweetie, have a good day.”

This only earns him a loud, “NO!”

“Okay, then,” Dean nods and then moves to Cas’ open window. “You have a good day too.”

“You too,” Cas gives a shake of his head. “Love you.”

“Be safe,” Dean pats the top of the car and jogs back up into the apartment.

**oo**

It’s a little after two o’clock when Dean gets a distress call from Garth. 

“Don’t worry, it’s not a big deal,” Garth reassures him. “She’s just had a little accident… twice. She’s out of clean clothes, would you mind bringin’ a spare set?” 

So, Dean finds himself in Emma’s classroom with another spare set of clothes and the sneaking suspicion that she wet herself on purpose. She’s sitting patiently on her cot in shorts and a large shirt, book propped open on her lap. When she hears the door open and shut, and she sees Dean standing there, she scrambles over to Dean. 

“Emma,” Garth whispers, mindful of the other sleeping children. “You gotta wait on your cot next time, okay?” 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” says Dean. “Let’s go get you changed.” 

They step out into the hallway, where Dean hands her a change of underwear. She takes it, but makes no move to do anything else. 

“Honey, what gives?” Dean asks. “C’mon, I gotta get back to work.” 

She just stares Dean down and says, “Privacy.”

“Ah,” Dean nods, “Of course. Garth, if you’d just turn around.” 

“Right,” Garth nods. “My apologies, Miss Emma.”

Dean and Garth both stand with their backs to Emma, Dean with his arms crossed and Garth with his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth. 

“You all right, baby?” Dean asks. 

“I need pants.”

Dean hands her a pair of purple leggings. 

“Shirt.”

“I brought Dark Side of the Moon or Stray Cats,” Dean offers. 

“Rainbow,” Emma declares. 

“Pink Floyd it is, babycakes,” Dean hands it off. 

“Okay,” Emma pushes through their legs and stands in front of them, hands on her hips. 

“Beautiful, baby,” Dean holds up a hand. “Up top.”

Emma gives him a high five. 

“All right, Emma, head on back to your cot,” says Garth. “I gotta rap with your pops here.”

“That’s daddy,” Emma corrects him. “Popsicle is at work.”

“Gotcha,” Garth nods. “Regardless, back you go, missy.”

Emma looks to Dean, and he promises, “I’ll say goodbye before I go, baby.” 

This seems to be the right answer. Emma nods and bounces back into the classroom, leaving Dean with Garth in the hallway. 

“I been meanin’ to talk to you or Cas about this,” Garth begins. “Now, I know what goes on between you and Cas is your own business, and I know that two’s a tough age for anybody, but. Well, for a couple of weeks now, Cas has come in to drop off Emma and he just… he hasn’t been himself, y’know?”

“What?” Dean’s eyebrows furrow. “’the hell are you talkin’ about?” 

“The only reason I’m bringin’ it up is because of Emma,” Garth jumps in. “With Cas lookin’ so down in the dumps lately and then with Emma’s accidents today… Is there somethin’ goin’ on at home that we should know about? ‘Cause we’ve got excellent resources, okay, we’re here to help.”

“What’d you mean by ‘down in the dumps’?”  asks Dean. 

“Well, yeah,” Garth shrugs. “I mean, I know he’s kinda dry, and he’s got a permanent case of stone face, but there’s just somethin’… I dunno,  _off_  about him for the last handful of weeks.” 

That’s a load of shit… right? Dean would know if there was something wrong with Cas. Sure, his hours have been a little whacked since Naomi started riding his ass a couple weeks ago, but everyone gets a little off sometimes. Dean knows he does. 

He looks up at Garth only to be met with a concerned stare. Dean doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to say in this kind of situation, so he supplies, “He’s been pretty stressed about work lately. I’ll be sure to ask him about it.”

Garth nods and gives Dean a smile, “All right then. Again, if you need anything—”

“We’re good, Garth,” Dean holds up his hands. “I promise. Thank you, though.”

That must be what Garth wanted to hear. He claps Dean on the shoulder and gives him some piece of insight that he can’t quite hear. The only thing on Dean’s mind is Cas. He barely even remembers to say goodbye to Emma before he heads back to the parking lot, mind working overtime. 

Fuck, what if this whole thing between them isn’t working? What if they finally got together only to realize that they’re just a terrible couple? Dean doesn’t know that he could handle that right now, or ever. Even the thought of Cas being any shade of dissatisfied with their new relationship makes Dean’s stomach turn. 

Shit. 

He can’t let himself get caught up with that kind of negativity. He’ll stop by home, drop off Emma’s dirty clothes, finish his work day, come home, make dinner, get Emma tucked into bed, and then stay up talking to Cas all night if he has to. 

Except he might not have to wait. 

When Dean pulls up outside their apartment, he sees Cas’ car parked at least a foot away from the curb. 

“Jesus,” he mutters and hurries up to their door. 

It’s unlocked.  

“Cas?” he calls. 

No reply, though Archie starts barking from their bedroom. Dean drops the clothes by the front door and heads back toward Archie’s insistent barks. 

On their bed, passed out face down in the comforter, Cas snores. He’s still in his clothes, didn’t even take off his shoes, and even with Archie barking right next to his ear he doesn’t stir.

“Shit, Cas,” Dean prods him. When he doesn’t budge, Dean rolls him over and checks to make sure—oh, thank fuck. He’s breathing, at least.

“Cas,” Dean shakes him, grabs his cheeks in his hands and tries to slap him out of it. “Hey, baby, I know you’re tired, just wake up for me and you can go back to sleep.” 

Cas’ eyebrows pinch as he slowly comes to. He pushes his glasses up onto his forehead and rubs his eyes. His gaze rests on Dean, though he doesn’t seem to register what he’s seeing right away.

“Dean?” 

“Hey,” Dean brushes his hair off of his forehead. “What’re you doing home?”

Cas shuts his eyes, “Naomi sent me home. I fell asleep during our meeting.” 

“Aw, baby,” Dean sighs and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Cas nods and arches up off the bed in a stretch. “Just tired.” 

“You wanna go back to sleep?” Dean asks, poised to leave, but Cas shakes his head. Okay, “You want me to stay?” 

Cas nods. 

“All right,” Dean climbs over him and stretches out beside him. “C’mere, bring it in.” 

“Wait,” Cas sits up, a yawn tearing out of his chest. “Why aren’t you at work?” 

“Oh,” Dean props himself on his elbows. “Emma had an accident, I brought her some spare clothes… dude that was only like an hour ago, when did you get here?” 

Cas looks at the clock on his nightstand and then back at Dean. 

“I don’t know,” he mutters. 

“Man, why don’t you go back to sleep?” Dean runs his fingers through Cas’ hair. “I’ll grab the kid, I’ll rustle up some grub, we’ll camp out in front of the TV and just kick back, okay?” 

“Can’t sleep,” Cas flops back onto the bed. 

“Dude, you’re fuckin’ fried, just go to bed,” Dean sits up. 

“It’s not that simple, Dean,” Cas groans. 

“It’s about as simple as closin’ your eyes and falling asleep,” says Dean. 

Cas groans and rolls over again. 

“Hey,” Dean rolls him back over and climbs on top of him. “What the hell is goin’ on with you?” 

“Nothing,” Cas frowns. “What are you doing?” 

Dean looks down at their position and, indeed, it is suggestive. 

Then everything clicks into and Dean’s struck by an idea. He moves his hands from where they pin down Cas’ shoulders and dips to kiss him. Cas is delayed in his response, but eventually comes to and kisses Dean back. 

It appears that in an attempt to prove that he really is fine, Cas is going to put all of his energy into this kiss, into wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck and pulling him down so their chests are flush and their soft cocks brush through their pants. 

Dean’s chest constricts and he pulls back, looking down at Cas’ bleary-eyed stare. God, he looks so fucking exhausted. 

“Cas, you gotta relax,” he kisses the underside of his jaw on one side, then the other. He kisses Cas’ neck and tongues over a couple of the many hotspots that he’s discovered. Cas melts into it, sighs softly when  Dean does something just right, gets hard when Dean starts grinding against him. 

“Dean,” Cas breathes, pushing back on Dean’s thigh. 

“What’s up?” Dean pushes his hands up Cas’ shirt. He glides the pads of his thumbs over Cas’ nipples. 

“That feels nice.”

Dean cracks a grin, because Cas’ eyelids are already starting to flutter again. 

He better do this before he loses the dork all together. 

Cas moans when Dean moves his leg, though he doesn’t stay disappointed for long. Dean sits between his legs and hikes his ass up onto his thighs. He makes quick work of Cas’ fly and, without ceremony, pulls Cas out of his underpants. 

“Way to get it up, old man,” Dean moves his hand in long, languid, feather-light strokes.

“Dean, what are you doing?” Cas asks a second time. 

“Helping you relax,” Dean shrugs. “I know getting off helps me relax. Especially if I’m getting off with a fine-ass man.” 

“Great, when’s he supposed to show up?” 

“Ass,” Dean uses his free hand to pinch the non-fat on Cas’ hip. Cas lets out a few giggles, but can’t find it in himself to give much more. 

At this point, Dean could stand to get Cas a little stiffer before he goes on, but time is kinda of the essence here. So he dips down and takes Cas into his mouth, going about halfway down before he comes back up. 

Cas gets thicker between his lips, starts leaking onto his tongue, and Dean just keeps on going. It’s quick and kinda messy, but it gets the job done.

The poor guy is so exhausted he doesn’t even make a noise, doesn’t thrust up or grab Dean’s hair or anything. He arches into it and goes still, apart from the tiny twitches of his hips and the pulses of his cock. Dean gets a good portion of it in his mouth, but he’s still new to the whole blowjob frontier and sometimes forgets just how much jizz can come out of one guy. 

He swipes his chin on his palm, then his palm on his jeans. Cas’ body goes lax before Dean can even tuck him back into his pants and zip him up. 

“Feel better?” Dean’s voice rasps. 

The only indication that Cas heard him is the small moan that escapes his throat before his breathing evens and the muscles in his face lose the last of their tension. 

**oo**

With Cas asleep, Dean can get away with feeding Emma a Winchester staple: hotdogs and eggs. Cas is the one who makes the poor kid eat peas and carrots and other stuff that’s generally unpleasant.

“Where’s papa?” asks Emma.

“Pop rocks is sleepin’, baby girl,” Dean says through his own mouthful of eggs.

“Why?”

“’cause he’s tired.”

“Why?”

 “’cause he’s been working hard.”

“Why?”

Dean looks up at Emma. Her chubby cheeks are pulled up high in a grin, her teeth bared as she giggles.

“Shush up and eat your eggs,” says Dean over Emma’s continued laughter. She thinks she’s so funny.

Maybe this is cosmic payback for Dean laughing at his own jokes for the last twenty-five years.

A knock sounds from the front door, and Emma declares, “I get it.”

“Nice try,” Dean stands. “They don’t make doorknobs at Hobbit height.”

“I am not!” Emma shouts as Dean walks to the door.

“Short, big feet,” Dean points out, “The evidence is piling up, kiddo.”

“You’re poopy,” Emma pouts.

“Not the worst thing someone’s called me today, baby,” Dean checks through the eye hole.

Crap.

He opens up the door, “Hey, heard someone dropped a house on your sister. Sorry about that.”

Meg raises an eyebrow, but says nothing as she steps into the apartment.

“Meg!” Emma exclaims.

“Hey there, squirt,” Meg smiles and opens up her purse, out of which she pulls a bouquet of lollipops.

“Aw, which screaming infant did you steal these from?” asks Dean as Meg shoves them into his hand.

… wait.

“What the fuck are these?”

“Chocolate pops,” says Meg. “They’re pretty good.” 

“Are these vaginas?”

“Aw, what’s the matter, li’l fella?” Meg smirks. “Not like you’ve never eaten pussy before.”

“Ha-ha,” Dean rolls his eyes. “Hilarious.”

“We had an event at the center,” Meg shrugs. “I thought you’d appreciate them.”

“What do you want, Meg?”

“No need for the attitude,” Meg folds her arms over her chest. “I’m looking for your husband, I wanted to check on him.”

“Why?”

“’cause you’re on my way home and I wanted to make sure he was all right after this afternoon,” Meg explains, “Have I answered enough of your questions, bridge keeper?”

Dean can’t get past the fact that Cas told Meg about what happened this afternoon.

“He’s fine,” he says. “He’s asleep, though. He hasn’t been sleeping lately.”

Meg gives him a long hard look before she drops her purse and sits down on the couch.

“Tell me about it, stud,” she grins.

“Daddy I’m done,” says Emma.

“Good work, baby girl,” says Dean, and he goes to help her down from her chair. “I’m gonna talk to Aunt Meg, you can go play before we get you in your jammies.”

He kisses her on the top of her head and gives her a little swat on the behind, ushering her towards her room.

Dean sits on the arm of the couch, as far from Meg as he can get, and asks, “Has he seemed weird to you lately?”

“In what way?” asks Meg. “He’s a weird guy, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Not weird like that,” Dean leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I don’t know, he just hasn’t seemed like himself lately, I guess.”

Meg nods, “That’s a pretty fair assessment, yeah. Any idea why that might be?”

“I don’t know,” Dean shrugs. “Only thing I can think of is… I don’t know, maybe this isn’t what he expected. I like what we’re doing, and I don’t wanna fuck it up and drive him away. I couldn’t do this without him, y’know? I need him.”

“Well, you guys have been doin’ the dirty for a solid few months,” Meg shrugs. “If he didn’t feel anything, I’m sure you would have known before this. Trust me when I say he’s never leaving you, Dean. He loves you way too much, and you’ve got a family now.”

“Yeah, but what if reality isn’t living up to his expectations?” Dean looks down at his fingers. How is he talking to Meg, of all people?

“All right, sport,” Meg sits up, “I’m gonna pose a radical theory here. Have you ever considered that this might not be about you?”

Dean frowns, and so Meg explains, “Dean, I don’t think you understand how much Cas loves you. You made him stop talking to one of his best friends, but he did it all because he wants you to be happy.”

 _‘Made him_ ’.

Those words hit Dean in the gut like a wrecking ball.

“I didn’t make him stop talking to Crowley,” he says. “I was about to apologize for being a dick about it and he said he’d already… I don’t know, broken up with him, or whatever.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you held your breath and stomped your feet until he gave in,” says Meg. “Did you tell him that you were okay with him talking to Crowley? Did you tell him to kiss and make up and that you were wrong for making him feel like he was wrong for having a friend?”

“It’s weird!” Dean exclaims. “It’s weird that he talks to his exes, I’m sorry.”

“Crowley’s not just his ex, Dean,” says Meg. “He’s a self-righteous bastard and half the time I wanna rip his goddamn throat out, but you know he’s the only person Cas talks about and talks to more than you.”

Dean’s insides coat with corrosive guilt, making him curl in on himself and put his face in his hands.

“He stopped talking to Crowley for you,” says Meg. “And god knows he’d stop talking to me if you asked. Would you do the same for him?”

“I’d stop talking to you for anyone,” Dean replies.

Meg raises an eyebrow, “You know, maybe if you weren’t such a self-righteous bastard yourself, you might even make some friends of your own. Trust me, the martyr crap gets real old real fast.”

Dean looks up and gives her a stare-down that, okay, does not have the intended effect. He sighs and asks, “What am I supposed to do?”

“Put it right,” Meg suggests, as though it’s the easiest solution. “And make some friends of your own. Maybe it’ll turn you into less of a paranoid little shit.”

Dean flips her off.

“You’re being a brat,” Meg scowls. “Nut the hell up and do the right thing. Because if you keep treating Castiel like this, I will disembowel you.”

And with the way that she’s looking at him, Dean thinks she just might.

**oo**

Cas takes Emma to daycare like he does every morning. Dean, however, already called into work and informed his boss that he’d be late today, that he has something that needs to be taken care of immediately.

That’s how he finds himself standing outside Crowley’s office building at nine in the morning, shifting back and forth on his feet.

He does not want to do this.

He’s spoken to Crowley for a total of maybe five minutes in the ten years he’s been plaguing his life, and he knows at least three and a half of those minutes were not friendly. As much of a relief that it’s been for Dean, not having Crowley around these last few weeks, if it’s been as hellish for Cas as Meg made it out to be, then…

Then Dean will swallow his pride and tell Crowley that it’s all his fault.

The girl at the front desk insists that Dean can’t see Crowley without an appointment.

“Listen, lady--“

“Ruby.”

“Ruby,” Dean corrects himself. “I know this ain’t exactly kosher, and I hate to play this card, but it’s about Cas.”

“Who?” Ruby raises her eyebrow.

“Tall, brown hair, blue eyes,” says Dean.

“Oh, Castiel,” Ruby nods. “Yeah, I’m still gonna have to say ‘no’.”

Dean gives her a stare-down before he remembers that there’s nothing stopping him from just _walking in_. Ruby’s tiny; Dean’s stepped in wads of gum bigger than her.

“Hey!” she shouts as Dean barrels back into the office. She’s surprisingly quick for being in such high heels. “You can’t just go back there!”

“Watch me,” Dean snaps back at her. He gets to Crowley’s door, but another woman steps in and blocks his way.

“Excuse me, sir, but if you don’t have an appointment, you’re not permitted to see Mr. Crowley.”

“Out of my way,” Dean says.

“Who the hell are you?” the woman asks. “I’m not just some bitch for you to bark orders at.”

“Really, ‘cause you sure look like one.”

“All right,” Dean feels a very rough, masculine pair of hands hold him back. “Ruby, call security.”

“Get the fuck off of me!” Dean shouts.

Crowley’s door swings open, “What in the bloody buggering _fuck_ is going on out here?”

His eyes land on Dean and, shit.

He looks about as bad as Cas does.

“Brady,” Crowley snaps his fingers. “Hands off.”

Brady doesn’t let up.

“Oi!” Crowley shouts. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me, as I know you aren’t so stupid that you can’t follow a simple direction. Hands. Off. The twat.”

Brady lets Dean go.

“Lola, darling,” Crowley rubs his temples. “Run and get me a coffee—no, espresso. And do _not_ ,” he warns. “Fuck up.”

Lola nods and grabs her purse from behind her desk.

Crowley looks to the rest of the office, as most of the employees have stopped working and taken to watching the action.

“What the hell are you gawking at?” Crowley snaps and immediately everyone turns back to their computers. He looks at Dean, “You, in my office. _Now_.”

Dean steps in and winces as Crowley slams the door.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here?” he demands.

“I had to talk to you,” says Dean. “It’s the only way I knew how.”

“And it never once occurred to you that a telephone call would have served that purpose just as well?” Crowley sits back in his large leather desk chair. He’s only four years older than Dean, and yet he’s four-hundred times as successful.

“Look,” Dean begins, but Crowley cuts him off.

“In the interest of saving both of us the time and energy of whatever cathartic hero’s monologue through which you’re about to bumble and tell me what you want,” he looks up from his computer. “I’m very busy.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Dean swallows hard.  He sits in one of the cushy chairs in front of Crowley’s desk and clears his throat. “It’s about Cas.”

“I’ve already stopped speaking to your ward, Dean,” Crowley couldn’t sound any more bored if he tried. “I am no longer a dark shadow in your doorway, you may live your life free of the likes of little old me.”

“That’s kinda the thing,” says Dean. “Cas, I think he might… y’know, miss you.”

Crowley scoffs, “Yes, I imagine he would. I’d miss me if I weren’t attached to myself.”

Dean sighs.

“Come on, man,” he mutters. “I’m sorry, okay?”

Crowley leans over his desk, about to say something when the door opens and that Brady guy pokes his head in again.

“Mr. Crowley, I need you to approve—“

He ducks as Crowley whips a stapler at him.

“Holy shit!” Dean exclaims.

“Show your face in here again and you’ll be emptying rubbish bins until your dying breath,” Crowley growls. Brady gets the message and shuts the door.

“Dude!”

“I don’t give a flying fuck, you miserable cunt,” Crowley snaps. “You can take your apology and shove it, now jog the fuck on before I find something hefty enough to crack your mongoloid skull.”

Fire runs through Dean’s veins, and before he can think better of it, he reaches over and smacks Crowley’s laptop shut. 

Crowley levels a glare at him. The whites of his eyes are pink with exhaustion, made only more evident by the bags that bruise the underside of his eyelids.

“You’re not sleeping either, are you?” Dean asks.

“I hardly see how that’s any of your fucking business,” Crowley spits.

“Dude, don’t punish Cas because of me,” Dean rolls his eyes. “And don’t punish yourself. Hate me all you want, ‘cause you know what? I hate you. I really, really fucking want to wring your neck every time I see you, including now. But you’re being even a bigger dick than usual, and Cas is goddamned miserable not talking to you.”

He sighs and scratches the back of his neck.

“He tried to talk to me about Mad Men the other night and I just,” Dean hangs his head. “I don’t care. I just don’t care.”

“If you’re attempting to diffuse the current situation by way of your pathetic attempts at humor—“

“Fuck, man,” Dean sighs and stands. “Be a petty dick to me all you want. I could give a shit. But don’t take it out on Cas. We both love him, we have to share him.”

Dean feels a break in the hostility surrounding Crowley and he swallows. He didn’t say something wrong, did he? Why won’t Crowley stop looking at him?

“You really do love him, don’t you?”

Dean lets out a breath and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Yeah,” he admits. “I do.”

Crowley nods at this and opens up his laptop again.

“Very well,” he says, and then goes silent.

Dean looks around, not entirely sure of what’s happening. Crowley looks back up at him.

“Don’t you have a job?” he asks. “Piss off.”

“Okay…” Dean frowns. “Does this mean—“

“Piss. Off,” Crowley repeats.

“Great,” Dean nods. “Good talk.”

He turns and walks back to the door, only for something to hit him right between his shoulder blades. He looks down and sees a cube of sticky notes resting on the floor, and then up at Crowley, who has returned to work like none of this just went down.

Dean leaves the office with an overwhelming amount of dissatisfying non-resolution, but decides that he’s done all that he could.

* * *

 

It’s eight o’clock by the time Castiel manages to wrestle Emma out of the bathtub and into her pajamas. She ran around the apartment naked for a good ten minutes before Dean was able to snatch her and hold her still.

“I don’t want to sleep!” she shouts.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to spend my night rustling a baby into her jammies, but that’s life,” Dean says.

“Dean, you’re not helping,” Castiel mutters. Even with all the sleep he got yesterday, he still feels like he’s wading waist deep through sand.

“Man, would you just go take a load off?” asks Dean as soon Castiel snaps the last button into place. “Make some tea, read a book or something. I’ll get the kid to bed.”

It takes another solid minute of convincing before Castiel finds himself in the kitchen, placing the kettle on the stove. He has about a hundred different teas to choose from, but chamomile will probably do him best right now.

He doesn’t understand—he hasn’t felt this beat down since college. Nothing’s changed, not really.

There’s a knock at the front door.

Castiel turns down heat on the stove and goes to peer through the keyhole.

Is it possible to feel dread and utter relief at once?

Castiel opens the door just a crack and whispers, “What are you doing here?”

“Relax, Sundance,” Crowley rolls his eyes. “I’ve already spoken with Butch, he knows I’m here.”

Castiel finds that hard to believe, but it’s difficult not to step aside and let Crowley come in.

“You look terrible,” he says.

“Missed you too, love,” Crowley runs his thick fingers through his dark hair. There are a few gray hairs weaving through, gray hairs that weren’t there only a few weeks before.

“How—why did you speak to Dean?”

There’s a thud and a quick “Shit!”

“Dean?” Castiel asks.

“It’s cool,” Dean calls back. “Just a flying book, don’t mind us.”

Crowley shakes his head, “How you manage to put up with him I will never understand.”

“It probably won’t comfort you to know that he often says the same thing about you,” says Castiel.

“Oh, believe me, I got an earful and a half from that pissy little prick this afternoon,” Crowley shoves his hands into his coat pockets. “But that’s neither here nor there. He came to tell me that you…” he rolls his eyes, “ _miss_ me, and pointed out that I may indeed feel the same way.”

Castiel’s heart squeezes in his chest.

“I… don’t know what to say,” he says. “Does this mean we’re friends again?”

“Never stopped,” Crowley shrugs. “Not really.”

Castiel smiles, “I’m really sorry, Crowley.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he replies, and then calls loudly, “It’s your sodding husband that should be apologizing.”

Dean pokes his head out of Emma’s room.

“Do you mind?” he asks. “We’re in the middle of _Chick-a Chick-a Boom Boom_ , and I’m really anxious to see if it turns out the same way it’s turned out the last hundred times I’ve read it.”

“Oh, shut your gob,” Crowley shakes his head. Before he can launch into a string of insults, Castiel comes forward and envelops him in a great big hug.

“Oh, come now, Castiel,” Crowley groans. “No need to get so emotional.”

Except after a few seconds, Crowley hugs him back.

“I did do,” he mutters close to Castiel’s ear. “Miss you, I mean.”

Castiel’s only response is to hug him even harder.

He stays for a cup of tea. They spend a solid hour catching up with each other, falling into the same rhythms and routines as easily as ever.

Dean comes into the front room after a while, shoes on and sliding his arms into his jacket. Castiel frowns and pauses his conversation with Crowley.

“What are you doing?” he asks. Dean’s eyebrows go up, like he thought he could sneak out without being seen. He clears his throat.

“I’m gonna go meet Garth,” he says. “For a drink.”

Castiel cocks his head, “Emma’s teacher?”

“Yeah, Emma’s teacher,” Dean folds his arms over his chest. “He’s cool, I figured I should see if he wanted to hang out, or whatever.”

Castiel nods and glances over at Crowley, who sips his tea and patiently watches the scene unfold around him.

“Okay,” Castiel finally manages. “Have fun.”

Dean smiles, “Thanks.”

He’s almost out the door when he pops his head back in, “Hey.”

Castiel looks back at him.

“I love you.”

Castiel’s smile must stretch all the way up to his eyes when he says, “I love you too.”


End file.
